Today, I packed the kids off to school, and my three-year-old and I picked up my sister for a little adventure to the Athleta Warehouse Sale.

That is some seriously crazy shopping, right there. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

Let's ignore the fact that I'm not exactly an athlete. I needed some summery things for our vacation. Oh! Did I not mention? We are taking the kids to Orlando, Florida. In a week. More on that later.

When we pulled into the parking lot, it was already crowded with cars, and the entrances to the building were thrown open. A flood of grim-faced women stalked towards the doors. To my left, a woman briefly jogged in place, and then cracked her neck. To my right, a woman pulled out three giant tote bags, and squared her shoulders. I clutched my toddler closer, and accepted a plastic garbage bag from the man at the door.

Once into the auditorium, it became clear that this was war.

Rows of banquet tables were stacked three feet high with piles of clothes, broken into pants, tops, etc with a small aisle between each. They were grouped roughly by size, but after that, you were on your own. My sister and I stood wide-eyed as two women pushed past us, pulling their hair into ponytails and pushing up their sleeves, an empty garbage bag dangling from each wrist.

A glance at the posted signs that listed prices starting at $5 - well! Game on! I held my toddler on one hip, and dived into the first table of pants. I grabbed, investigated, eliminated. I stuffed things into my bag. With my three-year-old demanding "DOWN!" I put her on the floor where she clung to my leg. I kept moving, eyes darting from table to table. All around me, women were kung-fu fighting over camisoles and fleece jackets. The shoes were around the edge of the room, and I saw several women tumble in their quest to see if that box back there, way in the back, contained a pair of shoes that weren't a size 11 pair of UGG scuffs.

Two tables over in the XS Pants $7 section, my sister was battling for a pair of running tights. I didn't see it, but she assures me that she used some slight of hand and a healthy dose of attitude to secure the pants she bought. Over in the corner of the room, I wedged my daughter between my knees and recruited the fifteen other women digging through the same boxes of swim seperates to keep their eyes open for a skirted bottom. Even with all those eyes, we came up dry. (Sorry, Mir!)

Skort Battle was settled quickly, as I raced down the table and grabbed one of everything in my size. Quick and decisive - apparently warehouse sales are not for the timid. When my three year old collapsed in a wailing heap under the bra rack, I knew it was time to make a hasty retreat. I was dripping sweat, clutching a garbage bag and dragging a howling toddler toward the finish line, while my sister continued to fight the good fight for a pair of shoes and a windbreaker.

A mere hour after we parked the van and joined the seething, sweating, kung-fu shopping, that's-SO-not-your-color, oh-honey-I-think-those-pants-wouldn't-fit-you-why-don't-you-hand-them-to-me masses, we made our way out into the fresh air and sunlight, shell-shocked and blinking in the glare. We scored some great deals on some great clothes. I sort of want to go back and see if there's anything I missed. It is the competitive wench in me.

See, and I said I wasn't an athlete. I think I have all the makings of a Warehouse Sale Pro.